


The Charm Offensive

by Marmosette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:50:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Mycroft are being nice. In public. John and Greg are freaked out by this, as it is one of the signs that the end of days is near. This was a prompt from ibelieveinmycroft. Of course there's a reason for them to be nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Charm Offensive

“Sherlock. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

At the sound of Mycroft’s voice, Greg looked up and froze. Sherlock was standing just beyond Mycroft, in perfectly turned-out black tie and dinner jacket, John Watson at his side. Greg caught John’s eyes, and saw that he was just as terrified. 

“Of course I came.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your time.”

“Not at all. Besides. This will be far more interesting than mapping smuggling routes through Nepal.”

Greg bit into the flaky _hors d’oeuvre_ in his hand, hoping it would hide his shock, and stall while he tried to figure out what part of the world was ending. He shrugged at John.

Mycroft took a calm sip of his champagne, slipping his other hand into his pocket. “John, good of you to come. Your suit is excellent.”

John touched his bowtie self-consciously, still struggling to keep up. “Thanks. I, uh... I gather you know the bride?”

“More accurate to say our families have known each other,” Mycroft answered, swiveling automatically back toward the head table. “We’ve probably only met a handful of times in person.”

“But still. Nice to be remembered, eh?”

Mycroft tilted his head, taking another sip of champagne.

“And what brings you here?” Sherlock said, his eyes on Greg.

“Services rendered, you know how it is.” He shrugged modestly. “Besides, I think she likes me.”

“She’s just married another man,” Sherlock pointed out, his tone impatient, but his lips fighting a smile.

“That’s inconclusive,” Greg retorted smugly, rocking on his heels and refusing to meet Sherlock’s eyes. 

“How’s business?” Mycroft interrupted, turning back to Sherlock. “Did you sort out that business with the bees?”

“Yes. Inopportune swarm from a neighbour’s hive.”

“Well done. If you’ve some time, Harry had one or two matters he thought you might find amusing. Nothing urgent.”

“I’ll ring him in the morning.”

“There’s no rush. Text him when you’re free.”

“I’m waiting for some evidence for a foreign client, so I have a day or so. It won’t be a problem.”

“Okay, what’s going on here?” John broke in abruptly. The two brothers pivoted toward him. Greg began making frantic faces at John from behind their backs. “You two have never managed civil to each other before, let alone kind. Is the food here drugged or something?”

“Why, John, I can’t think what you mean,” Sherlock said blandly, tucking his hands behind his back. 

“No, well, that can’t be it because you don’t eat,” John corrected himself, still glancing back and forth between them and ignoring Greg, who now had his hands over the lower half of his face, his head shaking in silent horror. “But seriously, you two. What’s going on? Has someone died?”

“No one has died,” came a sharp voice behind John, and slightly below. He jumped and turned round. “Doctor Watson, I presume.”

The woman was even shorter than John, which made it all that much more difficult. She had short white hair, and a very sharp expression. Her small, pale eyes were slightly narrowed as she studied him, her face completely blank other than their movement as they flicked over him. He could almost feel claws digging into his brain, prying him open and scraping through the details of his life. Then she smiled, short and sharp and quick, and looked away. 

“Yes, it’s nice to finally meet you in person. I should thank you for spreading the word about a singular consulting service available to those in dire straits. I understand you’ve also saved more than a few lives with your quick wits and steady shots. Well done.” She smiled again, and he resumed breathing.

“And Detective Inspector Lestrade. My, my.” She stared at him a long moment, her smile much slower this time, sliding over him. “No more need be said, really.”

“I...thank you, I think...?” Greg said, glancing around the group as this small woman sliced straight through it, parting it like the Red Sea. Sherlock and Mycroft were completely calm and smiling benignly, which finally made him realise, and he reeled.

Of course, her back was to him, but she still noticed. “No, please, don’t, Inspector. This way is so much easier. And I don’t think Doctor Watson is quite ready yet. Excuse me, I must go have a chat with Alexander. He’s been waving at me since we got here.”

Greg watched her disappear into the crowd. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Well that was odd,” John said, breaking the spell. “Who was she?”

Greg stared up, right into Sherlock’s face. Sherlock, strangely, was trying not to break into a huge grin, all but biting his lips. Greg was too speechless to protest.

“No, look, I’d know the Queen,” John said, looking around them. Greg didn’t dare meet his eyes. “Who was she?”

“You’ve got her mouth,” Greg said quietly to Mycroft, who raised an eyebrow at him, and half-smiled.

“What?” John asked, seeing the exchange, but not able to hear it over the crowd sounds. “Oh, so you all know except me. Fine, then. The only thing I’ve ever seen these two be this childish about is each other, so... oh my God.”

Greg raised his eyebrows, staring down at his shoes, feeling unexpectedly guilty, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Mummy. That was... Well, now it all makes sense,” John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Who else could make her boys behave? No, that makes sense.”

“She doesn’t like us to introduce her,” Mycroft offered. “She says it only gives people the wrong impression.”

“I’m not sure how,” John sighed. “She’s...well, intense. I don’t imagine impressions last long unless she’s happy with them.”

There was a little pause. John blinked around the group again, and this time Greg shrugged, his eyes wide with innocence. “Don’t ask me.”

“Intense,” Mycroft repeated carefully.

“Yeah, intense. Why? Is that some kind of dirty word?”

“John, you... I haven’t talked to her about you,” Sherlock said carefully.

“Well, someone has.”

“You have, all over your blog,” Greg put in.

“Your...mother reads my blog?” John said, a little shocked.

“Of course,” Mycroft answered. “I’m not surprised by what she knew about John,” Mycroft went on into the silence. “I would, however, like to know how she recognised the Inspector.”

“How many press conferences have I done with him, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked quickly. “Perfectly obvious.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows in acceptance, finishing the last of his champagne. “Does anyone have a line of sight on the Prime Minister?” he asked.

They all looked around. “I dunno, you’re tallest,” Greg muttered. “Why?”

“Because Mummy wanted a word with him, and I doubt it was about the silver pattern,” Mycroft responded drily. “Sherlock, any luck?”

“He’s at the back,” John said suddenly. They all turned. “What? He’s six foot fourteen. He stands out.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward where the Prime Minister’s head was just visible, bowed as he spoke to someone who was probably not six feet tall.

“Oh dear.” Sherlock’s voice was almost comically sing-song. “She’s at him again.”

“If he will keep subverting her efforts,” Mycroft murmured, trailing off pointedly.

“What’s she doing?” Greg asked.

“Possibly threatening his family with a month in Geneva?” Sherlock said quietly.

“Upsetting trade negotiations in a dozen regimes?” Mycroft guessed.

“Getting half the cabinet fired?” Greg wondered.

“Inviting him to cocktails at Ascot?”

They turned back to John. “She’s not going to do anything obvious and shocking at this wedding,” he pointed out. “Good grief, she survived you two. I think she can massage one Prime Minister without causing an international crisis.”

Unexpectedly, they heard the loud laughter of the man in question, and stared, seeing his head tipped back.

“John, do you think you could ask my mother to give me a few minutes of her time?” Mycroft asked, entranced by what he was seeing.

“Now?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

John broke into a grin, glancing at Sherlock. “Righto.”

They watched him go. “Why did you do that? Seems a bit cruel,” Greg said.

“Would you have gone if I’d asked?” Mycroft said.

“You couldn’t have paid me enough.”

“That’s why he didn’t ask you,” Sherlock answered, tracking John’s progress, watching him reach the PM. Heads turned, there was more laughter, and the circle widened. Then the sound of sudden, loud female laughter, and a familiar voice saying, “Cheeky devil!” Sherlock blinked and turned away, catching Mycroft’s eye. “I knew he was brave, but I think you’ll have to upgrade his status to ‘fearless’ after this, don’t you?”

Mycroft nodded, his eyes still wide. “I had heard his charm is legendary. I never expected proof.” He raised his eyes to Sherlock. “He’s your flatmate, brother. I don’t envy you the taxi ride home tonight.”

Sherlock pursed his lips in distaste.

**Author's Note:**

> No, I am not going to list her in the characters, because spoilers.  
> ETA: None of you were going to point out that I misspelled "dire straits"? Really? GAH!


End file.
